The Parchment
by Gina Mary
Summary: A mystical piece of paper falls prey to the whims and fancies of midlife crisis. Set in an AU S5 no Dawn, no Glory. BS.
1. As Night Falls

_ ****_

The Parchment

Summary: A magical piece of paper falls prey to the whims and fancies of midlife crisis. Definitely B/S, set in AU S5; no Dawn, no Glory.  
Disclaimer: 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and all related to her belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox etc. I own nothing.  
A/N: Okay, I give up, and I give in to my own mind. I didn't want to put up this story, right now; it's not fully done, yet. But I couldn't help it; I needed to get feedback for at least one chapter first. Also, I put up something like a sequel to 'The Road Home', but have decided to delete the story. I'll put it up some other time. Anyways, as always, let me know what you think.

****

1. As Night Falls

The wind picked up her scent and carried it, reverently, to him. He didn't fool himself; he knew, as he breathed in the fragrance that was uniquely _her_, that the reverence was not for him, but for her.

The vanilla of her hair was mixed with the red currant of her lotion, and as she spoke, her strawberry lip gloss added another whiff. He was so lost in the fruity scent, mixed with the heady smell of skin that he had come to know as hers, leaning forwards to breathe it in more deeply, he hardly paid any attention to her words, or the twig that crackled beneath his feet.

Until she yelled, of course.

"Spike!"

He almost fell out of the bushes he was hidden in, surprised at not hearing a pun as she staked the latest fledging. Instead, he forced himself to stand as still as... well, a corpse, and waited for her to say something, wondering if he'd really heard her call his name, or if it was just wishful thinking.

Hah. He should have known better. Really, would she really say the name as if it was a curse if he had imagined it?

"Spike, you asshole, I know you're in the bushes. I've known it's you for a month. Get out, right now, before I come in and drag your puny, undead ass out!"

Now, when a Slayer, particularly _this_ Slayer, makes a threat, she usually carries it out. So Spike, gathering what little was left of his self-esteem, stepped grudgingly out into the open ground of the cemetery, into the Slayer's view.

The second his eyes fell upon her form, his throat went dry. He gulped, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his black duster, taking a step back so she wouldn't see his body's reaction to her.

She was wearing a jean skirt that ended a good few inches before where it should. Her tank top, pink like the colour of her cheeks even in the pale moonlight, stuck to her torso like a second skin because of the sweat that came with the humid night. No makeup, hair in a no nonsense, tight ponytail, stake in hand and her mouth a grim line.

She was bloody beautiful.

"'ello there, Slayer. Nice night, eh?" Spike's light tone broke the silence between them.

He'd been following her for weeks, now, practically months. He had to, he told himself. After all, patrol was the only time she was alone. Otherwise she was that ponce of a boyfriend with her, or her Slayerette friends. And he had to watch her, after all, to see and study her fighting methods. There wasn't any minion he could ask to tape her for him to watch anymore. He had to do it himself. Watch and study. Study and watch.

Ugh. It didn't even sound convincing in his head; would she really believe it? Because Spike knew that, in a matter of seconds, Buffy would ask him why, exactly, he was following her. And his answer was plain crap, so...

"It was till you showed up." She crossed her arms over her chest.

Ooh, _someone_ was grouchy. Inwardly, Spike cringed at himself. 'Ooh'? That word should not exist in any Big Bad's dictionary, whether internal or external. He realized, then that Buffy was still speaking, so he concentrated on her.

Not much use. He just got the last few words.

"... you're following me?" She finished with a tap of her foot.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what she was saying. He played the fool, buying time. "Sorry, pet, didn't hear ya, there. Mind repeatin'?"

Her frown deepened and her eyes narrowed. "Why have you been following me around, Spike? Are you really that in love with pain?"

Ah, the clincher.

Spike shrugged it off, playing cool. But if he had a heartbeat, it'd have skyrocketed.

He was glad he didn't.

"My cemetery, luv. 'm the one undusted vamp you'll usually find here."

Her eyes shouldn't have been able to narrow further. They did. "Are you telling me that wasn't you in the War Cemetery, yelping when you fell into poison ivy after jumping off that tomb?"

"Hey!" Spike said, his voice wavering. "That hurt, okay? You should know, you always walk around with a stick up your ass!"

It took him a surprising amount of time to realize what he'd said. Buffy's smirk was what told him first. She tsked.

"Bugger." He muttered under his breath.

"I don't know what you're planning, now, but listen," The smirk was gone, now, in place a menacing look accompanied with a dangerous glint in her eyes, "If you try to hurt any of my friends, you'll suffer. I swear to God, Spike, I'll make you suffer, make you scream. I let you off that stint with Adam, but that doesn't mean that you'll—" She broke off when she realized he had a hollow look in his eyes. "Are you even listening to me!" She demanded.

"Huh?" Spike shook out of the stupor her words, 'make you suffer, make you scream', had sent him into. "Oh, right luv, sorry, won't follow you again."

Her suspicious expression didn't disappear, only deepened.

"Really!"

She sighed. "Try to make it more convincing next time. I'm too tired to fight anymore, Spike. Leave me alone."

"With pleasure," Spike remarked, half turning but freezing to watch her turn and retreat. As he watched her body sway to the beat of her heart, something hit him. He called out, "Hey, Slayer, innit Friday today?"

She froze. And slowly turned to face him, a guarded expression on her face. "Yeah." Her vice was flat. "So?"

"So?" Spike sauntered forwards to stand directly in front of her, a grin blossoming in his face. "Where's Cap'n Cardboard? Don't you patrol together on Fridays?"

Rather than be creeped out that Spike had her schedule memorized, the hard line of Buffy's mouth wavered as she said, "R-Riley's gone."

Spike's grin vanished when he saw the sparkle in her eyes, knowing it wasn't the steely Slayer glint anymore. Rather, it was an expression of a lost little girl... "Gone?" He echoed. "As in?"

"As in left, moved out, disappeared, not here!" Her voice became firm, now, and he knew she was trying not to cry. "We broke up." The last sentence was hardly a whisper and he wouldn't have heard it were it not for his preternatural senses.

Spike swallowed. He didn't know what to say to that... The joy welling deep inside him wouldn't comfort her, he knew. But he didn't want to lie. "Slayer," He started, only to have her put up one hand in the universal feminine gesture to stop.

"Can't take any more of you tonight, Spike." Buffy looked away, fingers tightening around her stake, too angry, or upset, for use of pronouns. "Leave me alone."

And without waiting for an answer, she turned and walked away, leaving a trail of ashes for him to continue to follow, moodily now, to make sure she got home properly.

* * *

Joyce Summers rubbed her temples slowly, in a circular motion, willing the headache away. She tried to concentrate on the files before her, but she knew that in a matter of minutes, she would be heading to the kitchen, into the comforts of chamomile tea.

She didn't waste time, now. Closing the file that held the list of purchases for the fall exhibition at her gallery, Joyce left her office slowly, as though movement would cause her temples to throb further. She made it down the stairs, and halfway across the foyer before the bell rang.

With a deep sigh, she turned around and walked to the door, lifting up to her toes to see who was calling so late. It was usually just one lonely vampire who came to raid her kitchen of mini marshmallows, but Spike had said he would be busy today. She squinted out into the dark, seeing nothing at first, but then noticing a red head, very close to the door.

At once, she opened the door and let Willow in. "Willow, hi, what..." Joyce broke off when she noticed that not much of Willow's front was visible.

"Hey, Mrs. Summers." Willow's voice came from somewhere behind the huge paper bag she was carrying in her arms, overflowing with odd objects that were as alien to Joyce as art was to Buffy. "Um, could you please help me a little, Mrs. Summers..."

"Oh!" Joyce pulled her eyes away from a jar that contained something that looked suspiciously like human nails, and moved forwards to help her daughter's friend. "Of course!"

Holding the heavy bag together, the two women walked into the living room where they deposited it on the floor, leaning against an armchair. Willow let out a huge sigh and sank into the chair while Joyce stood beside her, trying to catch her breath.

"That was quite some task," She said, moving back to the foyer to shut the front door. "What in the world have you got in there?"

"Oh, just stuff for some spells," Willow said, smiling as Joyce sat down next to her. "I'm trying to make this really old, important ingredient for a really... well, old and important charm."

"Ah." Joyce smiled, unsure of what to say, fazed in the face of witchcraft. "So... you'll _make_ the ingredient, and then make the spell?"

"Well, it's complicated," Willow admitted, "But I'm hoping it'll work out."

"Good. I hope it does."

"Me, too." Willow nodded.

The two sat in silence for a while before Joyce, brightening, said, "I've forgotten my manners!" She stood up and asked, "So, what do you want to drink, Willow? It's awfully hot outside, Buffy's been complaining all day. Do you want some lemonade? Or a soda?" She moved towards the kitchen, and Willow got up to follow.

"Oh, I catch a cold if I have cold drinks too quickly after coming in from the heat. But tea would be nice." Willow suddenly perked up. "I know! I'll make us some!"

"Oh, no, Willow," Joyce pulled out the kettle, glad she had an excuse for the tea she was craving. "I'll make it quickly."

Willow grinned and pointed at the cups that Joyce had pulled out for the tea. "Can't be quicker than me," She said, winking as a slight, hissing noise emanated from behind Joyce.

Frowning, Joyce turned to see the cups full to the brim with tea. The scent of chamomile drifted up to her and she turned to smile admiringly at Willow. "That's amazing!"

"Just a trick I taught myself during the finals," Willow confided, settling down at the kitchen table on a stool.

"I see." Joyce sipped her hot tea. Looking surprised, she said, "It's great!"

"Been practising." Willow took a deep gulp of her own tea before looking around inquiringly. "Is Buffy in?"

"No, Willow." Joyce sighed. "She's out patrolling."

"Oh." Willow bit her lip as though to hold in her words. They jumped out anyway. "She's taxing herself, don't you think?"

"Definitely." Joyce nodded her agreement. "Classes, then she helps me at work, then patrolling. It's a wonder, if she even finds any time for herself."

"Which she really needs, especially now that Riley's gone." Willow sighed. "How're you feeling, Mrs. Summers? Buffy told me you went to the doctor today. What did he say?"

Joyce smiled. "Thank you, Willow, I'm a bit better, but I couldn't get the doctor today. He was tackling an emergency case." She frowned a little as a thought hit her. "Buffy told you I've been ill?"

Willow shrugged slightly. "Well, we tend to bug her till she talks about whatever's bothering her. It lets her blow off steam. Also," She added, "You do need a reason to move out of your dorm room, of course."

"I told her not to, you know." Joyce's forehead was heavily creased, now. "I told her I could take care of myself. But you know her. Always wanting to help, even when it really isn't needed..."

"I don't believe that." Willow declared. "Buffy thinks you need a hand around the gallery, then perhaps you do. She had good judgement, you know."

"Except where her heart is concerned."

A slight, sad smile marred Willow's lips. "No, even then, she comes through."

Joyce's mind flew to when her daughter had to kill her first love. She nodded. "You're right."

They sat in companionable silence, sipping tea for a while, before Willow burst out, "She has a rescue complex, though. Even outside slaying."

Joyce nodded. "I'm glad her friends understand that."

Willow grinned and gulped down what little was left of her tea. Standing up, she said, "Thanks, Mrs. Summers. We need to do this more often."

Joyce laughed. "I'm always free, Willow. Come whenever you want."

They walked to the living room and Joyce helped willow hoist her bag up again. "How are you going to carry that thing?" She asked at the porch.

"Well, I carried it all the way from the Magic Box," Willow's voice was muffled by the bag, again. "I just tend to give out when I see someone I know."

Joyce laughed and said, "Take care, Willow. Good night!"

"Night, Mrs. Summers!"

Joyce watched the little redhead walk away before going back in and shutting off the lamps in the living room. With a glance at the clock and a sigh, she made her way upstairs, not noticing the forgotten piece of paper by the chair on which Willow had sat.

**__**


	2. Mommy's Girl

**__**

The Parchment

Summary: A magical piece of paper falls prey to the whims and fancies of midlife crisis. Definitely B/S, set in AU S5; no Dawn, no Glory.  
Disclaimer: 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and all related to her belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox etc. I own nothing.  
A/N: Okay, chapter two's on. If you read this, then review. Also, forgive me for my bad mood.

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2. Mommy's Girl

"I can't believe him, Mom," Buffy groused the next day as she hefted up the stairs of Joyce's art gallery a crate of Peruvian masks. "I mean, he knows what it's like to have recently broken up – god knows, he was such a wreck. Instead of making cracks about it, I tried to help him! _Help _him, Mother! And how does he repay me? 'Oh, Slayer,'" Buffy made an uncannily good imitation of Spike's voice, albeit with a terrible British accent, "'Doesn't Soldier Boy patrol with you on Fridays?' Hmph!" Buffy snorted in disgust, slamming down the crate and making Joyce wince. "I can't believe him!"

"Buffy," Joyce stepped gingerly up to the crate to check for any broken objects. "Calm down. Yelling at your poor mother won't help any."

"I know." Buffy sighed, then growled in frustration. "It's just, he makes me want to kill him... you know what I mean?" She asked her mother helplessly.

Joyce hid a smile. "Yes. I understand. Now, help me take it into the back. And don't talk to me about Spike, okay?"

Buffy nodded in grudging acceptance and followed her mom to the storage area. When they emerged half an hour later, Joyce was wincing as Buffy said, "And, to top it off, if he follows me, shouldn't he help me with my slaying? But _nooooo_, Mr. The Bloody just has to stand in the bushes and...

* * *

"Where is the damned thing?" Muttered Willow to herself as she emptied her purse onto her dorm bed.

From her place on the desk, Tara looked back at Willow. "What're you looking for?"

Willow jumped and stammered, "N-nothing, just a piece of paper I have stuff written on..." She frowned as a thought hit her. "Did you take it, Tara?" A hysterical note crept into Willow's voice as her girlfriend looked up from the computer, a slight frown marring her features. Willow instantly calmed herself. "I-I mean, did you see it, or anything...?"

"A piece of paper you had something written on?" Tara echoed. She shook her head. "No, of course not. Why would I take a paper you have something written on?"

Willow tried to smile. "Yes, of course. Why would you..."

Tara's frown deepened in concern. "Willow," She asked, "Are you okay? You look a little... flushed. What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing." Willow sank onto her bed, smiling a fake reassuring smile at Tara. "Nothing at all."

* * *

"Buffy," Joyce said, "Help me with this."

With a look of disgust, Buffy bent to pick up the painting Joyce was referring to. "Why'd you want to put _this_ up?" Her nose screwed up at the framed picture of a dying rooster.

With a sigh, Joyce indicated where it was to be hung as she explained, "It symbolizes something to do with the French Revolution... I'm putting it up so people will see it, like it, buy it."

"I don't think anyone will buy this piece of shit." Buffy declared, standing back to observe whether the frame was tilted. Nodding at its straight position, she continued, "I mean, why would you want a dead rooster in your living room?"

"The same reason," Joyce said through gritted teeth, "That you have pictures of chocolate in your bedroom."

Buffy's frown deepened. "Chocolates and rooster? Nah, they don't really compare, Mom. I mean, apart form technically being food, chocolate means something. Dead roosters don't. Plus," She stepped up closer to the painting and observed it through the glass, "It's all smudged, it seems. As though, I don't know, it's raining or something."

"Impressionist art, Buffy. Impressionists. Heard of them, ever?" At her daughter's blank look, Joyce cried, "Oh, god, are you telling me I'm completely wasting my hard earned money on your college education!"

"Don't be silly, Mom," Buffy scoffed, moving to lean against the wall. "I don't know anything about art, but I do know other stuff, like... English!" Buffy grinned. "I came second in class, only after Willow. Hah, beat that!"

"I topped my college art class every year, for eight years, in a row, every semester." Joyce told her daughter. "Want me to continue with my high school...?"

Buffy, whose eyes were sort of wide, rolled them. "Everyone has their own field, Mother."

"Exactly. Yours is slaying, mine is art. I don't know diddly-squat about your field, so I never interrupt your plans. You know nothing about art. Don't scoff at what you don't have an idea of." Picking up the keys that led to her office, Joyce added, "Why're you till here, anyways? Don't you have a date with Riley?"

The second the words left her mouth, Joyce knew her mistake. She turned around to watch Buffy freeze, eyes wide, as she stared at her mother.

The silence stretched for a long minute. Then, Joyce said, "Oh, Buffy. I'm sorry, honey. I slipped."

Buffy's posture relaxed, but Joyce saw her gulp. "That's okay, Mom. It happens."

Putting down her keys, Joyce walked over to her daughter and pulled her into her arms. "Oh, Buffy," Joyce sighed into her daughter's hair, "I'm sorry it happened like this. I know how much he meant to you..."

Buffy, who had buried her face in her mother's sweater, looked up. "Do you, Mom?" She looked confused and upset. "Because even I don't know what he meant to me." She pulled away from Joyce and paced the length of the floor, agitated hands finding solace in her golden hair. "When Angel left, I felt as though... as though I couldn't breathe, Mom, but when Riley told me he was leaving... I don't know, I-I didn't really care. As though... as though I knew he was just temporary, as though I was – I _am – _waiting for someone better to come along." With a sigh and a pull at her hair, she leaned back against the wall. "Things were tense ever since I beat Adam."

Joyce frowned. "Really?"

Buffy nodded, arms crossed over her chest. "He saw me united with Giles, Willow and Xander. Not a very pretty sight, I'm guessing, because he didn't touch me until he kissed me before he left. He must have seen the bloodlust, too, in my face, because, in the last few days, he told me I was too intense in my slaying, that I played around too much – yeah, right – and I hated him dictating my slaying. So, when he said he was leaving, I didn't stop him." She swallowed. "I miss him, though."

Joyce stood next to Buffy, leaning against the wall, too. "I know the feeling." The two stood in silence before Joyce said, hesitantly, "Buffy, do you think you didn't care for Riley anymore because you liked... someone else?"

Buffy looked at her mother with a frown. "Someone else?" She echoed. "Who would I like in this hellhole of a town?"

Joyce bit her lip. Hard.

Something about Joyce's expression warned Buffy. She said, "Mom..." warningly, but Joyce burst out.

"You and Spike spend so much time together; don't you feel for him?"

Buffy looked at her mother with eyes wide with horror and shock.

Joyce winced. "I'm guessing not..." Her voice was lost as Buffy broke out.

"Mom! Spike! I would understand if you connected me to Xander, but _Spike!_ Have I ever given you reason to believe that I feel for him, Mom! Have I? I-I – ugh!" She burst out in disgust and shock. "I _loathe_ him, Mom, every inch of his pearly skin! He's tried to kill my friends, my boyfriends, _me_ – what possible reason could I have for liking him in _... that_ way!"

Joyce rubbed her eyes. "It was just a suggestion, Buffy. You do talk about him a lot."

"Because I hate him."

"Right. Of course."

Buffy frowned. "It's true."

"Yes, Buffy, you've made yourself clear. _Loud_ and clear. Now," She reached for the keys again, "We're locking up early, today, because I have to—"

"Yeah," Buffy interrupted, "We have to go do _Thelma and Louise_ again."

Joyce frowned. "Actually, Buffy," She said, "I have a dinner date with someone."

Buffy stared incredulously at her mother. "You have a _dinner date?"_

Joyce rose a slender eyebrow. "Am I that unattractive?"

"No!" Buffy vehemently shook her head. "It's just... who?"

The answer came as the double doors of the gallery swung open. The smell of smoke and leather filled the room as Spike yelled, "Oi, Joyce, you ready to--" He froze when he saw Buffy staring at him, mouth slightly open. He grinned. "Why, 'ello, Slayer. Fancy seein' you here! Didn' know you did artsy stuff!"

"Didn't know you barged into private conversation uninvited," Buffy retorted, taking an aggressive step forwards. "Tell me why I shouldn't pound you, Spike?"

"Now, now, Slayer," Spike tsked, "We're all friend here, right Joyce?" He looked over the blonde Slayer's shoulder at her mom.

Buffy whirled to face Joyce, now. Joyce sighed, uncomfortable, and said, "Buffy, Spike's here to take me for dinner."

The silence could be cut with a knife. Spike stood, hands in his duster, watching Buffy stare at Joyce, stunned. When she found her voice again, she managed to stutter, "Yo-you're g-going with _him_!"

"Well," A slightly defensive note crept into Joyce's voice, "I've had my own life when you've been off at college, and Spike is a part of my life now."

Buffy gaped. "Are you saying that when he was plotting my murder, you were eating with him!"

"Buffy," Joyce said crossly, "You have your own group of band mates. Spike was lonely. So was I. He came looking for you and stayed for cocoa, which became our weekly tradition." Joyce softened, slightly, and said, "Buffy, come with us. I know how you're feeling... you shouldn't be alone, tonight."

Buffy stared, disbelieving. Observing the expressions on the faces of the Summers women, Spike said, "Yeah, Slayer, come along. I sure as hell don't mind. Give a vamp some company, won't you?"

Buffy looked away from Joyce to Spike. Meeting his blue eyes, she shook her head. "No... I just remembered, I had to be at Willow's."

And grabbing her coat, Buffy left before any of the two could say anything.


	3. Hide and Seek

**__**

The Parchment

Summary: A magical piece of paper falls prey to the whims and fancies of midlife crisis. Definitely B/S, set in AU S5; no Dawn, no Glory.  
Disclaimer: 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and all related to her belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox etc. I own nothing.  
A/N: I'm so, so sorry about the late update! I've been busy fitting back into routine, and I also kinda crashed my computer. All good now, though. Read and review.

****

3. Hide and Seek

Buffy pulled her hands out of her pockets, hesitating for an instant before bringing down her fist on Willow's door. She knocked, once, twice, thrice, and waited for a response, hands shoving back into her pocket.

She leaned against the doorframe and looked at the hallway, a small smile on her face. This was where she fought the Initiative commandos for the first time; this was where she'd told Angel she was over him...

And here she was, again, moping because Spike would rather spend his time with her mom than with her.

The smile disappeared, but before she could frown, the door was pulled open by a disheveled Willow, who looked out with a frown that comes when you've been roused from an important task.

How well she knew the feeling.

Willow noticed Buffy and, immediately, grinned. "Buff! Hey!" She stepped aside, a clear invitation to go in. "What's going on?"

"You tell me," Buffy said, walking into the room, curiously looking around at where Tara's things occupied the space that had once been hers. Everything seemed upturned and messy, and Buffy had a sudden thought. She froze and looked at Willow, wincing. "I didn't interrupt anything _... personal_, did I?"

Willow, who had thrown herself on her bed, rolled her eyes and patted the spot next to her. "Tara's at the library," She said, "Plus, if we were doing anything... _personal,"_ Willow grinned at Buffy's blush, I wouldn't open the door."

"Oh." Buffy sat down. "I see."

"You should. Now tell me," Willow pulled her legs up to the bed to sit in a cross-legged position, "What brings you here, to our lair, Macbeth?"

Buffy frowned.

Willow sighed. "That's where you lost marks in English, eh?"

Buffy shook her head. "Wills," She said, "You're just confusing me. Please, stop with the weird references, please?"

"Okie-dokie. Now tell me, why're you being all formal-ish and grouch-ish, tonight?"

"I don't know!" Buffy threw herself onto the bed, stretching her body lazily as Willow picked up Tara's cat. "It's just..." Buffy let out a deep breath to calm herself, and sat up. Looking at her nails, she said to Willow, "I miss Riley."

Willow looked at her friend and smiled, slightly. "Oh, Buffy," She reached out to hold her hand, "Do you need a hug—

But Buffy interrupted and shocked her by saying, "Then we could go on dinner and we'd show Spike – that asshole – what it's like to have a _real_ date, with kisses and romance and everything!"

Willow stared at Buffy.

Suddenly, the Slayer felt very self-conscious. "What?" She demanded, the temper from the gallery flaring back.

"Whoa," Willow held up her hands, a gesture she'd picked up from Xander, "Don't go all mercury on me, Buff! But, did I hear you right? Do you ... did you say you want Riley to make _Spike jealous?"_

"What!" Buffy looked more shocked than Willow felt. "To make spike jealous! Oh, Christ! Is the whole world going crackers?" Buffy gave a hysterical laugh.

"Why'd you say that?"

Stopping her laugh midway, Buffy turned serious and said, "Because my mum asked me about half an hour back if I'm in love with Spike." The laughs came back and Buffy lay down on the bed, laughing hard, again. "Me and SPIKE! God, how crazy is that! I mean, is that even possible in an alternate universe! Why would anyone _think_ that!"

"Um," Willow bit her lip, holding in what she wanted to say, but she whispered it as the Slayer continued to laugh hysterically, "Because you talk about him all the time..."

After what seemed like a long time, Buffy quietened down and her breathing became normal, again. Willow stroked her friend's hair, much like she had the time Angel had told her he was planning to leave. Buffy whispered, "Willow, can I stay here, tonight? Don't feel like going home to an empty house..."

Willow smiled at Buffy's head. "Of course, Buffy. You didn't even need to ask."

Buffy looked up and smiled, too. "Thanks, Will."

* * *

"Buffy? I'm home!" Joyce put down the keys to the house on the table beside the bed and ventured into the dining room, looking for light that would indicate her daughter's presence. "Buffy?"

With a frown, Joyce entered the empty kitchen, looking for Buffy. She proceeded to the living room after making sure the back door was shut, wondering where her daughter was.

Standing in the middle of the living room, in the dark because she hadn't put the lights on, Joyce bit her lip and realized that Buffy was probably still at Willow's. With a sigh, she moved to sit on the couch, when something outside caught her eye.

Creeping silently to the couch, Joyce looked out through the blinds on her windows, into her front yard where, around her large oak tree, a small patch of red light could be seen. She squinted out into the darkness, but it didn't take her long to realize what she was looking at when the patch of red disappeared, only to be replaced by a flare of a match, a second later.

"Bugger." Spike's voice carried through the slightly open windows in the silent night. "She isn't there."

Joyce suppressed a laugh as Spike, in spite of the knowledge that her daughter wasn't home, continued to pace around the tree. She turned around and sank into the couch, smiling and shaking her head, a laugh on her lips, waiting to bubble out.

All through dinner, Spike had been distracted and had constantly worried about Buffy. While Joyce complimented the ambience of the posh French restaurant they were dining at, Spike wondered whether Buffy had eaten. When dessert came, he said he hoped she hadn't gone out to patrol upset. When they stopped at the Pump for coffee, Spike wished she'd come with them.

But when Joyce had commented on how irritated Buffy seemed when she'd learned they were going out for dinner, Spike told her she talked about her daughter too much.

He'd blushed when she'd raised her eyebrow in skepticism when he'd given her a blue rose to give to the Slayer.

"Make 'er feel a bit better, wha' with Cap'n Cardboard up and leavin', and all."

She'd taken it with a smile and a promise to give it to its rightful owner. And, as she lay on the couch, she wondered what it said about her as a mother, that Spike took more care of Buffy than she did.

Though, of course, none of them realized it.

Almost an hour later, Joyce's body was stiff with waiting for her daughter to come home. Sighing, she got up and noticed Spike had left, too. She was about to leave the room when she noticed the blinking light on the answering machine. She hit a button and leaned against the wall, her headache coming back suddenly, as she listened to her daughter's voice.

"Hi, mom. I'm staying over at Willow's place tonight, so when you come back... don't worry, okay?" A pause, and Joyce heard Willow sigh in the background. Then Buffy said, in a rush, "Hope you had a good time, Ma. Bye."

Joyce chuckled at the message and its hesitant nature. That was the thing about Buffy. She got angry, then got guilty for getting angry. Joyce rubbed her temples and, shaking her head, turned to go back up.

And froze when she saw a roll of paper lying beside her favorite armchair, the one Buffy and Spike always fought for whenever they were in the house together.

Frowning, Joyce wondered if she'd forgotten to clean properly that day. She bent and picked up the roll, unrolled and looked at it. Nothing. She turned it around. "Funny." She muttered, looking intently at the blank sheet. It looked very, very old, with a tint of yellow and cracks in the heavy paper. "It's parchment," She said to herself. "Very old parchment."

She looked at the floor where it came from, as though she'd get answers. When none seemed forthcoming, and her headache slowly worsened, Joyce pocketed the paper and, picking up the rose from where it lay near the telephone, turned to walk up.

As she undressed for bed, Joyce looked at the paper once more and, with a small smile, decided that it's make for good drawing paper if she was ever bored.

* * *

When Buffy was asleep, Willow sneaked out of the bed they were sharing and resumed looking for the sheet of paper she'd lost.

"Damn it, where are you?" She whispered, silently upturning the contents of an old, old box onto the rug. "I'll kill myself if I don't find it..."

She sifted through the stuff, one eye on the fitfully sleeping Slayer, making sure she was asleep. Willow could've put a spell on her for sleep, but she was against using witchcraft on her friends. It just seemed unfair, even if it was for something as little as sleep.

Being a Wicca did have morals and codes, after all. They came in a huge, refrigerator box with a small, jewellery box or perks along with it.

Willow's search intensified as the moon began its descent from the sky. Every available surface was covered with things, and the floor, too, was no better as Willow's belongings poured out of drawers and cupboards. Tara was not spared, either. Willow left no stone unturned as in her search, somehow managing to keep Buffy asleep all the time. But it didn't help; as the redhead grew more and more desperate, the lurking knowledge at the back of her head that had told her she wouldn't find anything, intensified with her hunt and became a truth.

Just before daybreak, Willow collapsed onto Tara's bed, one tired finger in the air, and she whispered, "_Avante."_ The room cleaned itself and Willow fell into a broken sleep.

When Buffy woke up, an hour later, she looked at Willow and said, with a smile, "Sleepyhead."


	4. The Tools in My Hands

****

The Parchment

Summary: A magical piece of paper falls prey to the whims and fancies of midlife crisis. Definitely B/S, set in AU S5; no Dawn, no Glory.  
Disclaimer: 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and all related to her belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox etc. I own nothing.  
A/N: I'm really, really sorry about the late update. No excuses, except for half-heartedness. Anyways, read and review, please.

**4. The Tools in My Hands**

"Guess who!"

With a smile, Xander put down his hammer and put covered her hands with his. "Um," He said, playing dumb, "I don't know... Cordy?"

Immediately, Anya whacked him on his back and he turned around, laughing. "Not funny." She pouted.

"I'm sorry, Ahn," He pulled her into his arms, earning cat calls and whistles from his fellow construction workers when he kissed her. "You're just so much fun to irritate."

"Hmph." Anya said, hitting his chest with a closed fist, but smiling.

He grinned, too, and kissed her forehead. "So, to what do I owe this visit?"

Anya brightened instantly, putting away the mock-pout. "I've got something to show you!" She said, putting her hand discreetly into her beige blouse.

Xander, in alarm, looked around and said, "Um, Ahn, remember what we said about how it is a _bad_ idea to have sex in public...?"

But his words were of no use, as Anya had already pulled out what she was searching for. "There!" She said, triumphantly, before paying attention to what Xander had said. "And, yes, I remember; why, is it okay now?"

"No!" Xander said, perhaps a little too hastily. Then, to distract her, he asked, "What's that?"

Anya, if possible, smiled even wider. "My first pay check!" She announced, holding it up so he could see it. "Isn't that amazing!"

"Wow!" Xander said, craning his head to read the text upside down. "It has your name and everything, Ahn! And, look, the money, it has--" He stopped when he saw the number of zeroes on the check. "Anya!" He looked at her with frowning eyes. "I didn't know the Magic Box paid that much!"

"It doesn't!" She grinned, folding the check, carefully pocketing it. "I saved the guy's life today, see. The old shopkeeper died and the new one, his son, knocked over an urn. And you know what a bad idea that is!" She rolled her eyes, and he nodded as though he completely understood her reference. "So, instant demon, and Giles, who happened to be around, killed it with my help. I got a higher pay, and Giles got the shop!" She beamed. "Isn't that great? A promotion within a week and Giles finally gets employment!"

He stared. "What happened to the owner?"

"Said he's leaving town." Anya shrugged uncaringly. "I've still got a job, but Giles is my boss, now."

Xander, eyes wide at the tale, nodded dumbly. "You're buying dinner today," He told her.

"Well, duh!" Anya hooked an arm around his and steered him in the direction of the exit. "We're all going to the bronze, today, even Giles."

"All of us?"

"Yeah, I'm in a great mood!" She leaned over and kissed him. "We can even call Spike!"

* * *

Joyce Summers put her purse down on her dressing table and looked into the mirror. It reflected an old woman, with dark circles and tired eyes, matted hair and sunken cheeks. 

She was ill.

And today, she'd found out just how ill.

Her hand immediately went to her hair, her fingers tightening around her curls as she backed up against her bed and sank into it. For what seemed like a long time, she sat there, head in hands, willing her tears to come now, because she knew she had to be strong for Buffy later. But they didn't; like her stubborn daughter, they refused to listen to her and eventually, she got up and looked into the mirror again.

Red eyes, now, but dry. Her eyes flew to her hair, to the patch she knew would have to be shaved off if she had a tumor. She couldn't stand it. She grabbed a scrunchie and tied her hair into a scrappy ponytail and, without a look back at the mirror, went into the bathroom.

* * *

"Ahem." 

Spike jumped into the air as Xander purposefully cleared his throat. "Bloody 'ell, boy!" He cried out, holding a hand to his non-beating heart. "You almost killed me!"

"That'll be the day," Xander replied dryly, moving to lean against the wall, too. "Have you forgotten you're already dead?"

Spike glared daggers at the Slayer's little Slayerette. "It's an expression, Harris. You'd know if you went to college."

"Choosing to ignore that rude remark," Xander continued good-naturedly, "Because I can, I ask you, now, why you're spying on my friends."

"Not spyin'." Spike said stubbornly, pulling out a slim gold box of cigarettes and offering it to Xander, who declined by making a face. "Magic Box's on public property, you know. Can do whatever I feel around it, even if it is stare into the window."

"Ah." Xander said, rolling his eyes, "Of course. How could I forget, Mr. Chip?"

Spike glared.

Suppressing a laugh, Xander walked over to the door of the shop and moved to open the door. "Coming in?"

Spike looked hesitant, then asked, "Is the Slayer in there?"

Xander frowned. "I just came; you should know."

Spike bit his lip. "Couldn' see her." He took a deep drag of his cigarette before throwing it and crushing it with the heel of his boot. "I'll take a chance."

"Brave boy!" Xander remarked, opening the door and walking in. Spike followed and, as they fell into step, Xander asked, "By the way, what'd you do to piss her off at you?"

"Nothing really, this time," Spike replied, looking curiously at the wreckage around him. When they were within hearing range of Giles and Anya, who stood deep in conversation, he said, a little loudly, "Did you try to drag in a troll?"

Anya turned to him with a huge smile. "Hey, Spike, how're you doing? No, it was a demon. I got rid of it, and now Giles owns the shop!" All three men stared at her. She frowned, suddenly self-conscious. "What?"

"Nothing, Anya, nothing," Giles said, pulling off his glasses to polish them. Even then, he couldn't hide the flush of pleasure in his cheeks. "Hello, Spike. Sit down, won't you?"

Spike looked suspiciously from Anya to Xander, Xander to Giles. "Oo-kayyy," He drawled, taking a step backwards. "Are you people on crack?"

"Crack?" Anya echoed. "Of course not. Why'd you think that?"

"Because you're bein' decent to me?" Spike offered mildly.

"You haven't tried to kill any of us, as of late, Spike," Giles pointed out.

"And, of course, there is the fact that they've just made a lot of money today." Xander added.

"Oh." Spike was silent for a minute, then said to Xander, "What about you?"

He jabbed a thumb in Anya's direction. "If I'm good to you, you'll buy stuff from here."

Spike snorted with laughter. "That's rich! Me, buyin' stuff! Christ, how long have you goody-goodies known me again?"

"Four unfortunate years," Willow said as she and Tara emerged from the ladder that led to the top of the shop. "Full of attempted murder, threats, kidnapping and theft."

"Ne'er stole from you, Red."

She grinned. "Just generalizing."

"Okay, guys, enough time down memory lane!" Anya clapped her hands, making Spike rise his brows at Xander, who narrowed his eyes. "If you're all ready, can we please get going?"

"Get goin'?" Spike repeated, "Get goin' where?"

"We're all going to the Br-Bronze," Tara explained, "For a celebration."

"Ah." Spike leaned back on the glass counter, lighting up a cigarette again. "Don't let me keep you waitin'." He swept his arm in the direction of the door.

"You're coming along." Anya told him primly. "And please, no smoking inside the premises." She crushed out the cigarette Spike had dropped.

"Me?" Spike spoke, shocked. "Why me? 'm not goin' to buy anythin', Anyanka."

"You're still coming along!" She insisted, while Giles, Xander and Willow shrugged in the background. "You have contacts; I know you'll prove useful."

Spike frowned at her for a minute, before surveying the rest of the faces. Everyone seemed friendly enough... they were okay to have him there. But, someone was missing... "Where's the Slayer?" He asked.

Anya growled. "She isn't here yet! But let's go; she'll catch on."

"Not if she doesn't know," Xander told her, "She doesn't know anything about all this."

Everyone bit their lips for a moment. Then, Spike said, "You lot get a move on; I'll find her and bring her to the Bronze."

"Really?" Anya asked, eyes bright. "You'll do that for us?"

Inwardly, Spike chortled. _Yeah, right. For _you. What he said was, "'Course I will."

* * *

"And they sent _you_ to get me!" 

Spike grinned, walking one step behind the Slayer as they hurried down Revello Drive to her house, so that she could change. "What can I say, Slayer, I can be very..." He glanced at her form, swaying rhythmically from side to side as she walked, "_convincing_."

Buffy snorted in response, and Spike felt annoyed. "Yeah, right. You couldn't convince your own girlfriend you were good enough for her; you're _very_ convincing, Spike."

"Hey!" Spike said, indignant. "We were long over, it wasn't my fault!"

"Whatever you say." She shot him a look of disgust over her shoulder.

"You're one to talk," Spike added from behind her, "You couldn't even keep a dry bone like Riley!"

"Hey!" She whirled around to face him, and Spike marveled at how even the moonlight was enough to set her hair on fire. "We were long over, okay? It was not my fault!"

They both froze at her words. Then, as Spike grinned a Cheshire grin, Buffy cursed and turned to hurry up the driveway of her house. "See, Slayer? I'm very influent." He leaned against the doorframe as her shaking hands fumbled with the keys. "I like to," He looked at her, head to toe, his eyes smoldering, "leave impressions."

"Drop the seductive act, Spike," Buffy pushed the door open and stepped in, taking off her coat to hang it. "You're lousy at it."

Spike had opened his mouth to retort when they both noticed Joyce.

"Mum!" Buffy rushed to the couch, where Joyce sat with a piece of charcoal and her drawing pad. "How are you? Did you meet with the doc?"

"Hi, sweetie." Joyce leaned forward to stroke Buffy's hair away from her face, in the process turning the page of her drawing pad unnoticeably. "Yes, I did, he also ran a few tests. Reports are in by day after tomorrow, Wednesday."

"Oh." She looked at the empty page, and her mother's stained fingers. "Have you been drawing?"

"Coping with stress." Joyce smiled.

"Okay." Buffy got up and stretched, giving Spike a good view of her toned, golden back. "I'm out Bronzing today, just in to change. Are you feeling good enough for me to go?"

"I'm right as rain." Joyce lied.

Buffy smiled. "That's what I wanted to hear." And she turned and ran up the stairs.

Joyce looked at the vampire, who had been hovering in the foyer all the while. "Hello, Spike."

"Joyce," Spike nodded, coming into the living room. "How're you?"

"Good enough. Sit," She pushed some cushions out of the way to make place for him.

Spike sat, ears listening to the gentle thuds on the floor above him as Buffy undressed. He artfully arranged his duster to hide his reaction from Buffy's mom and talked with her about the Renaissance till Buffy came down half an hour later, dressed in a short, golden slip of a dress, with gold lips and golden eyes.

His words about Michelangelo trailed off and his throat dried.

"How do I look, Mom?" She twirled, showing off her perfect curves and tanned calves to Spike's hungry eyes.

Bloody gorgeous.

"Beautiful, Buffy. Really." Joyce stole a look at Spike. Open mouth, eyes wide. She hid her smile.

"Should I do anything about, well, anything?" She scrunched her nose at the mirror on the wall.

_Yeah, you could lie down willingly and let me bury myself in your soft, fucking exquisite body._

"Not at all. You're perfect." "Yeah," Spike had said before he could stop himself, "You're perfect." 

Both mother and daughter gave him a funny look at that. Buffy shrugged it off, first, moving to pick a matching jacket and said, "I'll see you later, Mom. Spike, come on."

Spike saluted goodbye to Joyce, who said, "Have fun, kids," like she had when Buffy used to go on dates, earning an amusing look from Buffy before the door slammed behind the two blondes, and the sounds of bickering returned.

When Joyce was sure they were far away, she pulled out the paper she had hidden from them. And, as Spike and Buffy quarreled down to the Bronze, Joyce traced their features on her black and white sketch of them on yellowing paper, embracing, Buffy's head on Spike's shoulder and his hands locked in the small of her back.


	5. Imagery

****

The Parchment

Summary: A magical piece of paper falls prey to the whims and fancies of midlife crisis. Definitely B/S, set in AU S5; no Dawn, no Glory.  
Disclaimer: 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and all related to her belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox etc. I own nothing.  
A/N: Is anyone (except those few who've been reviewing -- no name-taking --thanks so, so much!)reading this? Because I'd really like to know whether there's any point in going on. Anyways, let me know what you think.

5. Imagery

Buffy knew something was wrong when she woke up; it didn't come as an instant revelation, but a slowly dawning comprehension that hit her fully when she realized that the sun streaming in through the window was not of the new, pink variety.

She opened her eyes, squinting, and saw that she was lying on the couch in her living room, in last night's clothes, covered carefully with a soft, black blanket. In the clear light, everything seemed brighter than it should and pictures swam in doubles and triples around her eyes, making her head ache and spin.

"Huh." She expressed, frowning down at herself. "I'm hung-over."

She heard a curse, then, from behind the sofa to her left. Frowning, she bent over the back of the couch and looked down.

"Willow?" Buffy's frown deepened as she saw her friend bending, obviously searching for something. "What're you doing?"

Willow, with a deer-in-the-headlights look, tried to smile. It came off as a grimace. "Hey, Buffy; I just dropped an earring..."

"Oh." The sun was too intense for her. She turned and lay on the couch on her stomach, head stuffed into the pillow as she yanked her blanket further up. "You won't find it; I swear, this house is cursed when it comes to earrings. We're always losing them. Also, can you please draw the curtains, Wills? I'm not feeling all that great..."

"Of course." Willow hastened to draw the heavy curtains and asked, "Better?"

Before Buffy could answer, Xander sauntered in and said, "How can she be, when she has Spike's coat on her body?"

Buffy hummed in response, earning a shared look from Xander and Willow. Then, when this shock sunk into her mellow brain, she yelled, "WHAT!"

* * *

"So, are you telling me that because Anya and Giles got the Magic Box, Anya dragged everyone, including Spike, to the Bronze?" 

Willow and Xander nodded in unison. "Don't you remember coming here to get all dolled up?" Xander asked.

Buffy frowned. "I remember talking to mom and Spike..." She bit her lip, then let it go as her brow cleared. "Oh, yeah. About my dress. I remember _that_. But, dancing with Spike?" Buffy gave a delicate shudder. "No, I _don't_ remember that, and I'm glad I don't." She frowned again. "Why would I do it?"

"Well," Willow said, trying to comfort her friend, "You did drink a lot. Beer does bad things, remember?"

Buffy nodded gravely. "Boy, do I remember."

"Plus," Willow added, sensing she was on a roll, "You and Spike were the only single ones there, so maybe you just wanted to feel as though you were part of a couple, right Xander?"

Xander, who was trying to suppress a laugh, got an elbow shoved in his ribs and said, "Yeah, totally."

"Really?" Buffy frowned, standing to walk to the fridge and grab an apple. "Nah; Giles was there too, and, as Anya put it so well," She blushed, "I didn't ... well, grind my pelvis against his, now did I?"

Her echo of Anya's words made Xander moan and Willow cringe. "Buffy," Xander groaned, "I already have the image of you and that big mooch dancing like ... well, dancing. I don't really need one of you and Giles ... well, doing t-the same!"

Willow said, her head on the table now, "Too late; it's already there!"

"Hey," Buffy said defensively, "I didn't do it!" Then, in a smaller voice, "Did I?"

Willow and Xander exchanged a look. Then, as if connected psychically, they agreed to put the Slayer out of her misery. "No," Xander told her. "You just danced."

"And," Willow added, "There was a good amount of space between your bodies. I noted."

Buffy, who knew they were lying to make her feel better, nodded to acknowledge that she accepted their fibs. "Thanks, guys. Sorry for the imagery; Anya just puts strange things in your head that tend to stay put, there."

Xander nodded. "Amen." He said, standing up to stretch.

Buffy smiled and looked at the apple. "You know what, Will?" She asked, putting the apple back into the fridge. "Let's go look for your earring."

"Thanks, Buff, but I found it." She smiled and pushed away a strand of red hair to show Buffy the black metal hoop she was wearing.

"Found what?" Joyce asked as she walked into the room.

"Hi, Mrs. Summers," Willow smiled, "Just talking about my earring."

"Oh, you lost it here and found it again?" Joyce looked surprised. "That's nothing short of a miracle, Willow!"

"Told you." Buffy moved away from the fridge as Joyce approached.

"So, are you staying for lunch, Willow? Xander?" Joyce looked at them over her shoulder as she peered into the fridge. "Tell me; I have to know how much ravioli to heat."

"Ravioli? Homemade?" Xander's ears cocked.

Joyce smiled and nodded.

He grinned and sat back down. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Willow? You game?" Buffy asked, moving to retrieve plates.

"Sure." Willow shrugged. "I'm free." Then, as her eyes saw the clock, she said, "Oh, may I use your phone, Mrs. Summers?

"Of course. I'm glad you're staying for lunch." Joyce said, pulling gout the Tupperware containers and putting them into the microwave. "Oh, and after you've eaten, would you kids run me a favor?"

"Depends on what's for dessert." Xander said grimly.

Buffy rolled her eyes and said, "Sure, mom. What is it?"

"Well," Joyce said, sitting down, "Spike called me earlier and said you had his coat, and that he wanted it back. I was wondering if, while you went to the supermarket to buy this stuff," She put down a long list of food items, "You could stop by his crypt and drop his coat off?"

Buffy, who had frozen at the mention of Spike, darted a look at Xander. Xander shrugged, indicating his indifference. Buffy looked at her mum and said, "Sure, Mom. Whatever you say."

* * *

"Hello, you have reached the Magic Box. How may I help you spend your money?" 

Anya chirped and Giles, whose head throbbed, winced. "A little less volume, Anya, and no remarks about the money, please."

She frowned. "But," She argued, "We're an honest shop; we _do_ want their money, don't we?"

"Yes," Giles rubbed his temples, "But, see, they know that and so do we; what both the shopkeeper and customer already know doesn't need to be said. Also, it makes us seem greedy."

"Oh." She frowned. "So I needn't tell them I'm human?" She asked.

"No, Anya," Giles sighed, taking his glasses off to polish them, "You don't. Now, let's try again. If the phone rings, you have to pick it up and say...?"

Just then, the phone to the Magic Box did ring and Anya grabbed it on its first ring. "Hello, you've reached the Magic Box, your stop for all your magical needs. How may I help you spend your money? Also, I'm saying that to help, and not because we're greedy!"

She looked to Giles for approval, but he was resting his head against the counter.

The person on the other end was silent for a moment, then said, in an oddly gruff female voice, "Um, yes, I was wondering ... do you still have any of that Chinese parchment that came in almost a week ago?"

Anya frowned. "Chinese parchment from a week back?" She echoed, her mind scanning the inventory they had made that very day. "No," She said when her eyes saw nothing on the paper, "I don't think so."

"Oh." There was silence, then Anya's would-be-customer said, "Haven't you changed your staff?"

"And the owner, yes."

"Well, could you ask the previous owner about the parchment?"

"Oh." Anya frowned. "I could, but I don't know where he is, right now, or whether he wants to be disturbed."

"Alright, then." The gruff voice gave way to a softer one that Anya thought she recognized.

"Hey," She started, "Willow? Is that you--?"

But the line had been cut on the other end.

Frowning, Anya put the receiver back into its cradle. From behind her, Giles asked, "Who was that?"

Anya said, "I'm not sure."


	6. Enchanted

**__**

The Parchment

Summary: A magical piece of paper falls prey to the whims and fancies of midlife crisis. Definitely B/S, set in AU S5; no Dawn, no Glory.  
Disclaimer: 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and all related to her belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox etc. I own nothing.  
A/N: Thanks for your feedback; I really wanted to show do a chapter about the Bronze outing, but I decided against it (obviously). I'll do bits of it, though; don't worry, you'll get what you want. As always, let me know what you think.

****

6. Enchanted

"Um, Wills ... I don't know how to tell you this, but I don't think Mrs. Summers likes her guests to be poking around her living room while they're supposed to be on the phone ..."

Willow instantly straightened from where she was going over the contents of a drawer in the Summers living room. "Oh, hey, Xander." She smiled guiltily and gave him a little wave. "I was just ... uh, well, I was ..."

"Looking for something?" Xander leaned against the wall, light and curious eyes scanning those of his best friend. "Tell me; maybe I can help?"

"No, Xander." Willow sighed and sat down on the coffee table. "You can't help." She put her chin on her folded fist, taking the sleeve of her sweater into her mouth.

"Hey," He said, sitting down next to her and pulling the light blue garment out of her mouth. "None of that, now! It's a bad habit! Plus," He added with a grin, "It cost me a lot."

She smiled and leaned her head against his shoulder. "Oh, Xander." She sighed, "You can't help."

"Pardon me for asking, but are we on repeat, here?" He pushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. "What're you looking for, Willow?"

Willow bit her lip.

Xander frowned. "Willow ..." He said warningly, "Don't even think of lying ..."

"Oh, fine." She said, annoyed. She straightened and looked at her laced fingers for a long time before saying, "I've lost a paper, Xander. A really, _really_ important paper."

He frowned. "What did it have on it?"

"Well," She said, obviously having a very hard time trying to explain, "That's why it's so hard to find. It has – or, at least, _had_ – nothing on it."

Xander looked at her confusedly. "O-kayyy," Xander said, "Not quite sure I follow you, Wills ..."

"See," She said, standing up suddenly to pace, "That's the thing! Nobody _understands_!" She turned to him and said this last part in a loud stage whisper, raiding her hands upwards to give it an effect of dramatic despair.

"I might if you explain," Xander said, "Not that stupid, you know."

"Oh, pfff." Willow waved a hand in the air, "You aren't stupid."

"Then come on! Sit here." He patted the spot on the coffee table she had vacated. "Tell me."

Willow sat down, albeit reluctantly, and sighed. "You sure you—

"Can handle it?" He shrugged. "Pretty much. Been turned into a hyena; been chased by every female in town; seen Buffy and Spike make with the smoochies," He shuddered, "But let's not talk about that ... yeah, Willow. I can handle it."

"That's not what I was going to say."

"Oh." Xander bit his lip. "Makes me feel stupid about that long speech, suddenly."

"That's fine. I meant that ..." She took a breath, "You can't tell anyone, Xander. Do you understand that?"

He frowned. "Is it something bad?"

"Of course not." Willow waved him off.

"Well, then... Nobody? Not even Buffy?"

"No, not even Buffy."

"Anya?"

"Especially NOT Anya."

"Giles?"

"NO!"

Xander stared at her. "Alright ..." Then, just to annoy her, he added, "Tara?"

"Xander! No!"

"Fine, I got it." He grinned. "Not a peep. Now tell me; what's so secret-secret?"

* * *

"Buffy?"

_Maybe I should wear those new jeans ... they'll go great with that white, lacy peasant top Mom got me ..._

"Um, Buff? You done with your plate, or are you going to continue drawing strange symbols in the gravy ..."

_No, that seems too obvious. Oh, there is that new grey sweatshirt! But grey is so ... grey. Ugh, way to depress, Buff._

"Buffy?"

_Hey, I got it!_

"Buffy!"

"I got it!" The fingers of Buffy's free hand snapped in the air and she, grinning, looked up at the faces around her, only to find them looking back at her with confused frowns. "Um ... hi, guys!"

"Buffy," Joyce said from where she stood near the sink, "What's the matter with you? I've asked for your plate five times, now."

The Slayer looked at Xander and Willow, who nodded in confirmation. She swallowed and said, "Uh ... sorry, Mom? I spaced out."

Joyce sighed and extended her hand again. "Give it quickly, now. My headache's stirred up, again ..."

Xander stood up before Buffy could. "Then you should get some rest, Mrs. Summers; I'll do up the plates, don't worry."

"No, Xander," Joyce smiled, "That's quite alright; I can manage."

"No, Mom." Buffy said, standing and moving to take the dishes out of Joyce's hands. "He's right. You should rest."

Joyce bit her lips, looking at her china dishes. "A-are you sure, kids? I don't want you breaking something ..."

"Nonsense!" Willow grinned. "We do it all the time at our parents' homes."

"And our own," Xander added, smiling proudly. "At least, those of us who gave our own homes ... hint, hint."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Oh, wow, Xander, you have your own apartment!" Her dry voice would have put the Sahara to shame.

"Yes, I do!" Xander grinned, blissfully unaware of the sarcasm, "And, by the way, nobody has given me a housewarming gift yet ... hint, hint."

"You need to have a housewarming party first, dumbo." Buffy lightly whacked him upside on the head, then turned back to her mom. "See? We can manage without killing each other!"

"It's not your welfare I'm worried about." Joyce lifted her eyebrows at the plate Buffy was holding.

"Oh, it's the _china_ you're vexed about!" Xander shook his head and took the plate from Buffy. "Don't worry, Mrs. Summers; Buffy doesn't get to touch them."

Joyce laughed. "Now I'm happy." Ruffling Willow's hair as she passed by, she headed up the spiral kitchen stairs. "Thanks, kids!"

"Ahhhh," Xander sighed, turning the tap to let the water flow, "The joys of domestic work ..."

Buffy and Willow shared a look. Then Willow stood up and said, "Well, I'm going to go, now." She grabbed her backpack from where it lay on the floor and shrugged it on. "Lots to do, you know ... afternoon classes that I can attend, even if I didn't attend the morning ones ..."

"Yeah," Buffy nodded in agreement. "Lots to do..." Her eyes flickered on the list of groceries that lay on the counter.

"Bye, then. I'll see you around." Willow waved at them, smiling a little.

"Bye Wills," Buffy said and Xander echoed. She left through the back door, letting in the early afternoon sunshine through the door for a second before it shut behind her.

"Xander," Buffy said suddenly, "Don't you think Willow's acting strange?"

"Strange?" Xander repeated, frowning at Buffy by turning his head around. "Why say you that?"

"Well ..." Buffy frowned, trying to pinpoint exactly _why_ she'd said that. "I'm not sure ... but she seems so distracted, don't you think?"

He shrugged, trying hard to keep a neutral face. "I guess so."

"Yeah, she does," Buffy said, mostly to herself. Then, shaking her head, she told him, "Keep washing; I'll change, then we can get the food." She headed for the stairs.

"And drop DeadBoy Jr.'s coat off, remember that."

Buffy paused, her foot in the air, hand on the railing. A small smile filtered through. "Yeah, I will."

* * *

In her room, upstairs, Buffy looked at her reflection in the mirror. And smiled.

As she had reached out to shut her closet doors, her eyes fell on the golden dress from the last night, hanging limply from the hook it had been on ever since she had woken up and showered. Hesitantly, she pulled at it and held it up in front of her body, turned and looked at herself in the mirror.

Till last night, she hadn't understood what was so special about that dress. Now, it seemed almost as though it had been made to follow every curve and arc of her body, even when it was just pressed against her like the way it was right then.

The color, she noticed, was almost the same as her skin, only shinier on the silk. She reached up and pulled at the scrunchie that held her hair together. As her locks tumbled, sparkling in the sunlight that sneaked in through the windows, Buffy thought she understood why the British vampire, and a lot of other men she didn't care about, had been so entranced with her.

She looked like a goddess, those Greek ones in Giles' color encyclopedias. And she was glad that she could still be beautiful.

She reached out, slowly, to touch her reflection, cautious because it might disappear. Her fingers were about to come in contact with the glass when there was a sharp rap on her door.

"Buffster?" Xander said, "You ready?"

"Y-yeah, just a min-minute!" She was surprised her voice fumbled. She whirled away from a new-founded face of hers and hung the dress back where it belonged. Tying up her hair again, messily, she turned and looked at herself in the mirror.

Tight blue jeans, suede ankle boots in brown, and a short sleeved, tan blouse. She added huge, silver hoops and quickly lined her eyes, then studied herself again.

"Great," She mumbled, turning to grab a stake from the table beside the door. "All Slayer-like, yet ... complementing." She opened the door, and grinned at Xander. "Been waiting long?" She asked innocently.

He grinned back at her. "Not _too_ long. I've just been able to memorize the lines on the planks of wood of your floor." He noticed her apparel, and said, "Whoa, tiger; dressed to kill, eh?"

She winked. "When am I not?"

Shaking his head, Xander turned to move downstairs. Buffy started following him, but then stopped. She pulled the scrunchie out again, threw it into her room aimlessly, and followed Xander.

* * *

"Finally!"

Buffy blinked in the sudden darkness as her eyes struggled to get accustomed to the dimly lit crypt. Beside her, Xander grabbed her arm protectively, the other holding the pillar in the middle of the crypt to balance them. He muttered something as Spike came into view, but said loudly, "Gee, we're sorry, master, we should've come earlier to give you your weird, smelly leather garment back!"

"Xander." Buffy said in a nearly inaudible, warning whisper. "Don't."

Spike, who didn't hear this, chuckled. "Good boy, Harris. Anticipated as much from you." He pulled out a slim golden box of cigarettes and lit up, taking a deep drag as his eyes, shadowed deeply, searched the two who stood near the entrance to his crypt. "Didn' expect a whole, bleedin' party to escort my coat back to me, though." He cocked his head and looked at Buffy. "'Ello there, Slayer. Don't quite fit with this dank background, now do you, luv?" He chuckled, derisive. "But, then, hardly any background fits you ... 'cept those with huge poofs who hurt you, eh?"

Buffy didn't say anything at first, her mind, unbidden, calling up pictures from last night at the Bronze.

* * *

_Toppling over, laughing, her hands in the air, Buffy followed Xander's wild dancing steps as the undulating sea of warm, moving bodies shifted around her. Xander grabbed her hand, held it over her head and spun her, over and over, round and round, until all Buffy could hear was her laughter, merging with the music, and all she could feel were the tiny thuds of her heeled shoes hitting the dance floor ..._

Xander suddenly let go of her hands and Buffy, unbalanced, almost fell over. But a pair of strong hands grabbed her at her upper arms, straightening her to a standing position. Buffy opened her mouth to say thanks, but then she saw who it was, and all her words died on her tongue.

"Hello, Buffy."

She shuddered; she loved the way he said her name, the way it just rolled off his tongue like he'd been saying that simple word all his life.

Or, maybe in his case, unlife.

She summoned the courage to look into his eyes and when she did, the clear, periwinkle blue color in them made her tense body relax. She even smiled a little. "Hi, Spike. Having a good time?"

The smirk she'd been trying to ignore disappeared, a true smile coming in its place. He said softly, "I am now."

Maybe it was the mood; maybe it was her dress; it could've been the alcohol she'd been drinking, or his suddenly gentle behavior. But whatever made her relax in his arms, also gave him the guts to say, "Wanna dance?"

And, the same thing or force, made her say, "Okay." Then, something seemed to click and she asked, "With you? Can you dance?"

He grinned. "You'll just 'ave to see."

As though it was planned, the second Spike's hand found the small of her back, the fast-paced dance music suddenly changed to a slower song, with a haunting melody that echoed in their ears. Groups of people dancing together made way for couples and soon, the dance floor was full of embracing couples, pressing as close as society would allow, yet craving more.

Buffy and Spike were no different.

Her hands locked together at the nape of his neck, her feet moving forwards to bridge the space between them. Buffy sighed contently as her head rested on his chest – she hadn't dated too many men who were just the right_ height for her to keep her head anywhere except their solar plexus. He smiled at her, though she didn't see, and lowered his head so his nose grazed her golden mass of hair, inhaling her perfume, his hand pulling her even closer to him so that she could feel every hard plane of his chest ..._

* * *

She shook her head to get rid of the image. What he'd just said hit her and, ignoring the shooting pang that her chest experienced, she scowled at him. "You're right, Spike. This background doesn't fit me. So," She walked forwards and held out his coat, "here's your duster; take it so I can go."

Both men stared at her. Xander stared at the sudden change in her mood, and the abruptness she was using. Spike was confused, because he thought he'd seen a slight glitter of feeling in her eyes. "Um, sorry if I upset you, Slayer – didn' know you were so touchy today."

Buffy didn't say anything, just kept holding out the coat.

Frowning in apprehension and concern, Spike hesitantly approached her and took the coat from her arms. "Yeah," He said gruffly, "Thanks. To you two, and Joyce."

"Great." Buffy's voice was completely flat, stripped of feeling. She turned and moved to leave. "C'mon, Xander; let's go."

But as she tried to move past him, Xander grabbed her arm and halted her. "Wait, Buff." He looked at Spike, frowning, and said, "Why did you let him get away with the insults?"

"Xander," Buffy said quietly, "I don't have the time."

"Hey, the supermarket isn't going anywhere." Xander tried to turn her around and face Spike, but Buffy held firm and he said, "Look, I'm not going to say anything to this-this stupid wimpire!" This earned a squeak of indignation from Spike. "But you have to. Because he's just going to keep on insulting you, over and over, and, I'm sorry Buff, but I don't like it, really, and—"

"Hey, listen to me, you lackbrain," Spike interrupted, "'ve apologized, in case you've gone deaf as much as you are daft! Just said I was sorry! What else am I to do! My tongue runs away sometimes; it's not my fault!"

"Yeah right," Xander snorted, "You're just going to keep insulting her and us again and again if she doesn't shut you up!" Turning to Buffy, he said, "Why don't you just stake him, Buff, and give us all a chance to live in peace—"

"Because, unlike you and most of your super friends, 'm actually useful!"

"Oh, yeah? In what? Recording animal behavior?"

"Oh, that's it, you poof; you are so—"

"Stop it!" Buffy yelled.

Immediately, the two men, who had been inching towards each other so that they were practically nose to nose, pulled apart. Xander looked down, Spike scratched his head.

"What kind of Neanderthal-like behavior was that!"

"Buff, this assface—"

"Slayer, you were_ here_. He started it! Don't you—"

"Again, shut up!" They did. She glared at them, breathing hard. When she was a bit calmer, she sighed and said, "Xander, stop irritating Spike."

Xander and Spike's mouths fell open. After a few minutes of gawping, Xander, asked, "Di-did you just take his side?"

"No," She tried to explain patiently, "I just said—

"You did, didn't you? You took his side!" Xander shook his head. "That's it; I'm leaving." And, whirling about, he stalked out of the crypt.

"Xander, wait!" Buffy called after him, turning to go but being stopped when Spike jumped into her path. She sighed, again, and asked, "What now?"

He eyed her suspiciously. Then, he said, somewhat accusingly, "You jus' took my side."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't"

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you —" He sighed, realizing they could do this all night; they both were stubborn mules, he knew. So, instead, he said, "Something's wrong, 'ere, Goldilocks." His eyes, the same ones that held her captive last night, scanned her skeptically. "What do you want from me?"

Buffy stared at him for a stunned second, then, making a sound of disgust, turned on her heel and followed the path Xander took, out of the crypt.


End file.
